


from the ground up

by tanawrites



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: F/F, Light Angst, Mentions of skating injuries, figure skating AU, i'll add more tags as we go!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29879295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanawrites/pseuds/tanawrites
Summary: It wasn't ever a choice between figure skating or Rosé; Denali knew she belonged on the ice and Rosé knew it too.So she left and didn't ever look back.Five years passed and as medals, sponsorships, the Olympics all slipped from her grasp, Denali wasn't sure of anything anymore.or, what happens when a professional figure skater returns to her hometown following an early retirement and navigates her way through the grief and uncertainty of her career and considers the road not taken.
Relationships: Denali Foxx/Rosé
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	from the ground up

The first thing she noticed was the snow.

It had been years since Denali had been home to see the town square covered in a thick layer of white and the sight brought a sour taste to her mouth. 

It used to be her favourite time of year when she was younger, before she knew any better. As well as hot cocoa and snowball fights, the first time she ever skated was wearing blue mittens, a knit beanie and watching her breath puff out in front of her in a white cloud of condensation.

For a long time, winter and skating went hand-in-hand for Denali. Every year it was a countdown for snow, waiting until the lake behind her house froze over and became her own personal rink.

It wasn’t until much later when the local ice arena took precedence as classes and daily training moulded her into a professional skate, that Denali realized snow didn’t count for much at all. Hot cocoa didn’t particularly fit into her strict macro-diet and regardless of the weather outside, it was always cold at the rink. The cold lost its magic and the holidays soon followed suit, when Denali prioritised training and competitions over flying home.

That only made it more ironic to her that it was snowing for her reluctant homecoming; the picturesque winterscape of a town that greeted her more mocking than nostalgic.

It wasn’t as comforting as Denali thought it would be, how familiar the town was. The main street was as if nothing had changed, if for a few new storefronts. She knew from her few visits home that if she didn’t look too closely, it looked exactly as it did when she left, further cementing that _she_ was the only factor that had changed. That she was the piece that didn’t fit anymore, not the other way around. 

The reminder of why she was home for her first Christmas in years was too much to unpack on the day she moved back to the small town she’d left behind, Denali shied away from any intrusive thoughts and took a detour from the main road.

Following the instructions from her speaker, Denali eventually pulled her car into an unfamiliar driveway, to a house she’d only seen before in pictures and cut the engine.

The front yard was unrecognisable under the snow but the driveway and small path had been shovelled recently, a silent sign her father had been by. The _welcome_ mat was definitely all her mom though and Denali exhaled a sigh of relief. 

She wasn’t sure if her parents were going to respect her request to arrive alone and without fuss so she was grateful to see they’d left her to her own devices, in their own way.

As excited as they were to have their only child back home, a few streets away was a vast improvement than a two-hour drive to the city, Denali couldn’t bring herself to match their enthusiasm. It was less of a joyous homecoming as it was striking out and crawling home, with no need for fanfare. 

Her parents had been great but after months of doctors appointments and rehab, Denali felt stifled.

And no doubt, that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

Her parents and her coach had shielded her from the worst of the media while she recovered but the tabloids had nothing on small town gossip, as ruthless as it was rapid. Everyone would know she had moved back by the afternoon, if they didn’t already from when she’d signed her name on the lease and mailed it back weeks ago.

The house was nothing remarkable externally. It was in a newer part of town, an expansion of mostly apartment blocks and small houses, that took place after she’d already moved to the city. It was more modern than her parent’s house but still older compared to the studio loft she’d left behind.

But it was new and entirely her own and held no reminders of the life she’d had to leave behind, which is exactly what Denali needed.

There was a flyer from the moving company who had already been and gone, and she found the key under the mat as well to let herself in.

It was strange, seeing all her furniture in a house she’d never set foot in before but she shook the feeling and wandered between the boxes that were left haphazardly in the rooms that corresponded with her scrawled handwriting. 

_You’ll feel better when you can see your things_ , she told herself and set in to unpacking.

-

Despite the mountains of boxes, Denali got through the kitchen and the living room with ease.

Plates, mugs and cutlery were easy, methodical to find a place for. It was mindless but it kept her hands busy to stretch up on her tiptoes to reach the tallest cupboards and sort tupperware. 

Putting away her books and photos required a little more attention, alphabetizing by author and lingering a little too long on the frames of her with her face pressed up against her coach or with the team of skaters she had trained with.

She stubbornly left the pictures on display, to prove a point to herself mostly, adjusting their positions on the side table more than necessary before she moved on. At least they were happy memories.

By the time she was tossing a throw blanket and cushions on the couch, she’d almost forgotten the vague reminder of where she was supposed to be right now. She’d gotten into a groove of unpacking, leaving traces of herself through the house, more than just furniture or decor.

Music played through her headphones as she pushed open the door to the only bedroom in the house, ignoring how tempting her bed looked even unmade.

She was more exhausted than she cared to admit to even herself. 

Her knee felt stiff from kneeling in front of boxes for hours and leaving the key behind to her apartment felt a lot less like saying goodbye to the city and a lot like giving up on something she wasn’t ready to, something that was beyond her control. She was pushing through the exhaustion and discomfort, motivated that the more _her_ the new house felt, the easier it would be.

She was eager to get through the brute of the unpacking anyway, knowing she was expected at dinner with her parents that night as a trade-off for her seclusion today and if she admitted to not having much done, tomorrow she’d have both her mom and dad knocking on her door to help.

She reached for the closest box, slicing through the tape and ripping it open. It had only been labeled with her name in somebody else’s neat handwriting and as her eyes caught the glint of the blades dance as it caught the overhead light, she realized why.

Her hands froze over the box, hovering uselessly for a few moments before she flinched back, like she’d been burned.

In her haste, she dropped the pair of scissors she’d used to open the box and bent to pick them up, mumbling a curse to herself under her breath. 

Her skates.

Packed neatly on top of her collection of trophies and medallions and even a few sports magazines she’d been featured in, were her current pair of skates. The laces of both skates were tied in a neat bow, guards covering the silver blades.

Somebody else had packed this box, that much she knew. She’d merely shrugged when her mom asked her what she wanted to do with all this stuff and hadn’t waited around to see how that was interpreted.

As she looked at the flawless white leather, she couldn’t help but be bitter. They looked exactly as she remembered, they were perfect and she was pissed. There was no indication that anything had ever happened, completely untarnished. Nothing like the uneven scar across her knee that she’d been promised would fade with time.

Before she could stop herself, Denali reached for the box again, idly toying with the laces.

It had been nearly a year now since the last time she’d worn them.

She’d been a favourite going into the competition and aside from a few pre-competition jitters, Denali was quietly confident.

She knew her routine like the back of her hand and even though it was _the_ qualifying competition, she hadn’t been worried. 

She felt that way right up until it happened. She’d been landing her jumps, she was completely on beat with the music, everything was happening the way it was supposed to.

Until it wasn’t.

The last thing anybody was expecting, least of all Denali, was her skate to skim across the ice erratically, beyond her control, her misplaced landing ending with an ear-splitting pop.

Everything had gone silent after that.

She could feel her chest heaving, struggling to catch the breath that was knocked out of her from the impact of hitting the ice but she couldn’t hear a thing.

Not her own sobs, not the all too familiar song she’d practised to for months still playing over the speakers or the gasps of the crowd. Not even the EMTs as they spoke to her while carefully lifting her onto a stretcher, her knee bent awkwardly and swollen through her tights.

In the days following, when doctors approached her with _“irreversible damage”_ and _“career-ending injury”_ which was endlessly repeated by her parents, her coach and worst of all, the media, Denali wished for the silence again.

Now fully recovered, or as recovered as she could ever be, her dreams of gold medals and the Olympics nothing but a faint memory, Denali wanted to scream. She settled for throwing the box into the closet with a loud thump and an even louder slam of the bedroom door as she stormed out.

She grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter and was pulling out of the driveway again a few minutes later.

She didn’t know where she was going, definitely not to see her parents but _anywhere but here_ sounded like a good option so she drove. She drove around town twice before pulling up in the parking lot of the one place she’d purposely avoided on her drive in this morning. 

The rink.

-

The first time Denali skated at the ice arena, she was seven.

After spending years skating on the lake, she begged for proper lessons at the ice rink. 

Her eager hands pushed away her father’s helpful grip, demanding to tie the laces of the rental skates herself. They were scuffed and very obviously well-worn before she had insisted on them, instead of her own skates from home. 

She’d bounced in excitement waiting by the boards for her turn, the skates feeling comfortable and familiar on her feet which couldn’t be said about the rest of the group in the beginners class. 

She had stepped out with shaky balance as she adjusted to the shift onto the ice, shoulders squared in a silent dare that anybody attempt to steady her, her parents or an overly eager instructor who was a few feet away.

It took her two laps around the rink and a near fall before she let go of the barrier, unused to the ice being quite so smooth. 

For a few moments, her hand had hovered over the rail, uncertain. When she didn’t falter, she started to laugh. Whole-hearted giggles as she gained speed, her confidence grew when she drifted further away from the perimeter of the rink, arms spread out beside her to keep her balance. 

It felt like flying. 

At the time, she didn’t notice all the eyes on her. The instructor watched on dubiously, her parents equally as surprised but mostly proud and the group of kids her own age an equal mix of jealousy and wide-eyed awe.

She was seven and she had no idea that this was how she would spend the next fifteen years of her life.

Or, that it would eventually become her downfall.

-

The outside of the arena, while it remained unchanged since Denali was there last, wasn’t as inviting as she remembered.

In fact, the dull brick building was lacking... _something_.

Maybe it was just her, and she knew exactly what she was lacking. 

She passed by a bored teenager at the front counter who merely waved Denali through, without offering her any rental skates or asking for an admission fee. It was midday in the middle of the week so she hadn’t expected anybody to be on the ice but she didn’t expect it to be that easy.

It initially struck her as odd but she continued through regardless, tightening her thin jacket across her torse. In her haste she’d forgotten her coat and she was already feeling the cold from the ice before she could even see it.

She continued down the hallway, familiar signs and posters lining the way. In the years since she’d trained here, she swore none of them had been updated. The pricing signs, the motivational posters all remained, fraying at the edges the same way they had for a decade.

That was why her own smiling face brought her to a complete stop.

At the end of the hallway, were two side-by-side framed images of her. One was as a child, in her first ever competition in this very rink with a small gold trophy in her hands. The other was more recent, only a few years ago, from the other side of the country. She held a bouquet and stood on the top of the podium, a gold medallion around her neck. There was a plaque that Denali didn’t bother to read but she got the gist. 

And now she understood why she’d been let in so easily.

She knew her mom would have definitely provided both photos and before her accident, Denali had no problem being a hometown hero. Being in the limelight whenever she managed a trip home had been welcome, it was a lot easier to be known as a nationally acclaimed athlete who couldn’t get home for the holidays than someone who’d had everything, then lost it all.

Denali breathed out a sigh as she rounded the corner to the rink, comforted at least by the fact that she was alone. 

The ice was smooth, like it had been resurfaced only recently and Denali could do nothing but stare as she rested her arms on the boards and leaned forward.

The gleaming white ice wasn’t just pristine. It was _tempting_. 

She’d been cleared for weeks now. Her surgery was considered a success, she had officially made a full recovery. A long, painstaking recovery of regaining the confidence to even stand with any weight on the leg that had collapsed under her and months of rest before that. It was a full recovery nonetheless, unfortunately _“full recovery”_ from a torn ACL didn’t allow for the demands of a professional figure skater. 

Laps around the ice didn’t entertain her nearly as much as they did when she was younger so Denali had resigned herself to the fact that she hadn’t just retired from her career, she had retired from the rink completely.

She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to bring herself to put a pair of skates on again, even if she tried. 

The ice called to her, it always had but it was more than that.

The competition did too. The more she skated, the more she loved it. The better she got, the harder she worked.

Denali knew early on that she had _it_. The drive, the ability and the talent but more than any of that, she had the want. She wanted to be the best and to do that, she had to beat the best.

It hadn’t come without sacrifices as well. She never went to her high school prom, she didn’t even walk at her own graduation. She’d given up the majority of her freedom for the entirety of her high school years for the benefit of her sport. She kissed her family goodbye a week after receiving her diploma in the mail, the city closer to her coaches and the airport.

But she didn’t look back. 

It was never even a choice for her, never an option between A and B. By the time conversations shifted to Worlds and the Grand Prix and sponsorship deals, Denali knew she wanted to take the gold.

Returning to this rink, knowing that none of that was hers anymore, felt like a cruel twist of fate. She could practically taste the win, and could almost feel the cool touch of the medal against her chest before it disappeared in the blink of an eye. 

Her initial rage had faded, re-learning how to walk had forced it, simmered down to a heavy grief.

It wasn’t as easy to bear, the blind rage at least had a release. The shatter of her phone against the brick wall of the hospital, the endurance she pushed herself to test during rehab, a guttural scream when she was finally able to straighten her leg again amongst the happy cheers of her nurses.

The grief crept in slowly, mourning not only her career but her entire life. Skating had woven it’s way into every crevice of Denali’s everyday and it’s missing presence was distinct. It wasn’t just about figuring out what she was going to do now, it was figuring out _who_ she was without skating.

Before she did something stupid, like rent a pair of skates or tear the picture of herself down off the wall, Denali turned to leave, figuring it had been enough reminiscing (torture) for one day.

Without even taking a step forward, Denali froze. The sight of someone a few feet in front of her drew her out of her thoughts, apparently too deep in her head to have heard any footsteps behind her.

She didn’t need to do a double-take, she knew who was standing in front of her.

All long legs, a wide smile and auburn hair that Denali had helped dye a pale pink too many times to count, she knew exactly who it was.

“Rosie?”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hi all! I'm back and writing for...a different ship? I'm shocked too but I've loved writing this as I'm watching the weekly episodes, I've got so much love for these s13 queens so it's been a totally different experience this time around. 
> 
> this is also my first time posting a multi-chapter so I appreciate your patience and any feedback - I'm just taking it as it goes because I've enjoyed writing so much again. 
> 
> I've also got to mention the inspiration behind this, it's not quite enough to be considered a songfic but enough that I want to mention that there will be many nods to taylor swift's 'tis the damn season/dorothea lyrics throughout and I highly recommend listening while reading - especially next chapter! 
> 
> happy reading! x


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